Monsters
by Barbara Lestrange
Summary: Dark bittersweet tale of love lost and bonds formed in shared misery. VKHG, SSHG, hinted one-sided RWHG. [Complete]
1. I

A/N: This is a very dark and depressing angst-fest with an implied love quadrangle (complicated, I know) and an unusual ending. I think it's the saddest thing I ever wrote in my life. Please RR so I know what everyone thought of it. I'll be posting another chapter to my other, unrelated story tomorrow.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. :sigh: I can only dream of being that good a writer.

**Monsters**

by Barbara Lestrange

I.

On the first day of the new term, Potions was quiet. It wasn't so much that Snape had managed, somehow, to get more intimidating during the summer between their fifth and sixth year--though he had. He was thinner; his eyes sunk deeper under his dark brows; his hair fell into his face and cast its shadow across his sallow complexion. His ever-present scowl had intensified, and with one look he dared Potter--yes, dared him--to say anything at all about the Death Eater parents of the Slytherins, now enjoying the accommodations at Azkaban.

No, the quiet had nothing to do with Snape himself as he hissed the rules of order for the term. Something had come over the students, Gryffindors in particular. They were subdued, almost withdrawn, Snape noted; their gaze as cold as any Slytherin's. He studied each student as he listed off the course objectives; he met with defiant looks as he read off today's instructions. The nastiest of all came as a surprise: it was on the face of Hermione Granger.

"Have you any questions?" he asked, brushing back the oily shock of hair from his face.

No one answered.

"Miss Granger?" he grunted.

"I have none, _sir_," she replied icily.

"Then you may begin. You have an hour and a half."

If he was taken aback, he didn't show it. Instead, he slunk back behind his desk and sat down, tapping his long, bony fingers together, watching the class.

Longbottom--miserable failure that he is--was intently focused on grinding the ingredients together in his mortar. He kept on grinding even past the point where he had made a fine powder, growling to himself and mashing the pestle violently.

Potter kept adding too many drops of the syrup of hellebore. Each time, the mixture frothed and foamed, and he zapped it away with his wand, beginning again.

Weasley wasn't even working. He moved the vials around on his desk, and occasionally feigned effort at the assignment. By the time an hour had passed, his cauldron still contained only the first two ingredients--and damned if he seemed to care.

Granger was by far the worst of the lot. She was going through the motions, of course, thoroughly enjoying herself as she stirred her potion--which was perfect, as always. A fine gold vapour rose from the top of her cauldron and she smiled thinly, eying Weasley contemptuously.

It looked for all the world to Severus that she had snapped.

The House of Gryffindor was fractured.

When Snape called time, the Slytherins and Hermione brought a flagon of their potion up to his desk for testing. The rest of the Gryffindors cleaned up in silence and shuffled out, except for Ron. He was waiting, arms crossed and wand in hand, for Hermione. Looking out the door, Snape could see that Harry was waiting for both of them, looking rather exasperated.

"_Evanesco_," said Hermione, and her perfect potion vanished. As she turned to leave, Ron stepped in front of her. "Excuse me," she snarled--snarled! Snape could hardly believe his ears.

She reached up and touched Ron's arm, and with a sigh and a shake of her head she shoved him aside. He stumbled and fell onto a desk, cracking his arm hard against the edge of it.

"Are you all right, Ron?" called Harry.

"Why, you. . ." Ron growled, rubbing his sore arm.

She spun around, drawing her own wand. "You wouldn't dare!" she spat.

"I would," Ron hissed.

"TWENTY POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR!" Snape roared. "Weasley, Potter, OUT; OUT!" He swooped down on Ron and Harry like a monstrous bat; they fled and he sent their belongings chasing after them. "And detention for you both!" he bellowed down the hall.

He turned around to face Hermione, zapping the door over his shoulder. A heavy bar clunked down into place and locked them in--all the better for disciplinary discussions.

But there was something in the way she looked at him that, as he opened his mouth to reprimand her, made him think twice of it. It was. . .a sorrow in her eyes, perhaps. It was a shade of defeat, or possibly regret--or possibly all of them together. Whatever it was, it stirred something in him that he had not felt in a long time.

So instead, he gestured for her to sit down--and much to her surprise, he sat beside her.

"What happened?" he said rather than asked as she stared at him.

She sat for a moment without answering, obviously trying to think of an acceptable response that wouldn't reveal the full truth.

"There was a fight last night in our common room. Most everyone is still sore about it," she said.

"Clearly," he began, "you think I am a fool; that I did not notice."

She fell silent, looking sullen. That wasn't what she thought at all.

"To think," he amended, "I once considered you my best student."

She bit her lip, and an awkward silence passed between them. Hadn't he hated her? She'd been so sure that he had; that he could never view a non-Slytherin--much less a muggle-born Gryffindor--as anything more than scum. Well, surely that was his feeling now.

"Well," he said, looking down his long nose at her, "have you nothing to say in your defense?"

Hermione shook her head slowly, sadly. What had she gotten herself into? Why, why had she thought it would be all right to destroy her life--and for whom? For Viktor Krum! She'd been back two weeks now and there'd been no owl. He'd promised he'd write. _She'd_ written.

All the things Ron had said on that first night back at number twelve, Grimmauld Place--never did they seem more true than they did now. Sure, he'd been angry and jealous, but what had given her the right to shove it in his face? Maybe he was right and she _was_ filthy mudblood trash; after all, hadn't Malfoy been saying so for years? None of the others wanted anything to do with her. And now, she'd lost the respect of a teacher, the very one she'd worked so hard to impress for five years. All this, over three miserable weeks with Viktor Krum.

She buried her face in her hands and tried desperately not to cry.

"_Accio tea_," said Snape, and a tea set floated over to where they sat, square in the middle of the dark classroom. Hermione watched from between her fingers as he poured two cups; one for him and one for her. "I have no class immediately following yours," he said casually, pouring a bit of cream into his cup and raising his eyebrow inquisitively. At her nod, he put a few drops in hers as well. "So you have a choice: you can talk to me now, or you can do so in detention."

Her eyes were red but she had managed not to cry. This strange display of mercy--of compassion--was so shocking, coming from Professor Snape, that she was able to choke down her tears, pick up the tea, and take a small, welcome sip.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "I suppose I'll talk now."

Snape wrapped his fingers around his teacup, watching her intently without even a hint of a smile.

"For a long time, I have been corresponding with the international quidditch star Viktor Krum. I'm sure you remember him," she said slowly, trying to get some measure of what he was thinking; why he would want to hear any of this mess.

He simply nodded for her to continue, and sipped his tea.

"Anyway, it all began quite innocently. He fancied me, but I didn't feel anything for him. We talked; there was the ball incident and the Triwizard Tournament; he went home and...we wrote letters. Then, sometime last year. . ." She paused as her voice trailed off, feeling very embarassed to be telling any of this to Severus Snape.

"Go on," he said.

"Sometime last year, around, well, Valentine's Day I think it was, my feelings started to. . .change. I didn't notice it at first, since we were all so absorbed in Harry's visions. And then, after the fight with. . .with He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, when I was recovering, I got a letter that..." She looked directly at Snape. ". . .That said he was in love with me, and wouldn't I like to visit him in Bulgaria. And ever since Fred and George set off those fireworks I felt this need to. . .to do something different, so I decided that I would. I didn't tell anyone about it, either; I asked my muggle parents to send me, and they agreed."

She stirred her tea a little; the cup shook and wriggled its little china legs.

"I got back two weeks ago. When I said where I'd been, no one was pleased--least of all Ron and Harry."

Snape simply nodded. No one in the Order had been particularly pleased, himself included. Of course he had been there--there at the home of the late Sirius Black--that night she had returned from the continent. She simply hadn't noticed him there: who would, when all he did was lurk in a shadowed corner, away from everyone else? Of course he had heard it all before, but to hear it again, in her own regretful words, was something different. It was something almost special; it was private and far more personal than teachers and students often get.

"We had a row. Things were said that maybe weren't meant, but maybe are true anyhow." She looked him in the eye. "No one speaks English in Bulgaria, Professor. And I don't speak Bulgarian, though I tried translation charms and everything I could think of to get by. Viktor's friends are all older than I am; I was dragged to places that make the Hog's Head look like a right proper little tea shop. I drank grog and firewhisky and drinks that I didn't recognize; I flew recklessly on the back of his broomstick; I did things that proper little Hermione Granger would never do. And then I bragged about them because I was proud."

"Are you, still?" Snape asked quietly. He poured a perk up of hot tea into his cup and hers.

"No," she replied. "No, I'm not."

"That's a start," he replied calmly.

"I realize now that there was nothing to be proud of," she said in a voice that was barely audible. "It's not as though I actually _chose_ to do any of those things; I just went along with whatever Viktor wanted because. . ."

She trailed off once again, sure that she had seen her teacher's lip quiver. When he said nothing, she started up again.

"Last night I was waiting for my owl because I was sure he'd have written back to me by now. And I was so flustered, because without her I can't send off another letter. So I. . ." She reddened a bit, looking down into her tea which was letting off a few soft wisps of steam. "So I asked Harry and Ron if I could perhaps borrow one of theirs."

"I see."

He was glowering now, looking angrier than she had seen him in a long while.

"And so that's how it started. It spread through the whole house rather quickly, I'm afraid," she added quickly, not quite sure what it was that she'd said to set him off.

And just as suddenly as he had grown so ferocious-looking, his expression softened to one of contemplation.

"I suppose I am a filthy mudblood who rides in muggle flying machines and drinks far too much grog, who rides with dangerous boys and forgets about her friends when it's convenient," she grumbled. "And I shouldn't have rubbed it all in their faces. I shouldn't have told Ron I didn't care for him; I just. . ."

Snape nodded slowly. Hermione could feel her hair stand on end.

"I just wanted to _know_," she finished, and turned away, taking a burning swig of the tea. Her hands were shaking.

There was a long silence.

Finally, Snape broke it. "I want this trivial business settled. No fighting; no curses, hexes, or jinxes; no ignoring my class over petty rivalries."

Hermione's ears grew hot. That was it? Just told to end it? When it was so obvious she didn't even know how or she would've already? She swallowed the lump in her throat and hung her head in shame, hoping that her hair would hide her face. He called her agony _trivial_. Her loss of her dearest mates, _trivial_. Where did he get off saying such things? It's not as though he ever _had_ friends to lose!

"You will offer your apologies to Potter and Weasley, and to the other members of the Order whom you have worried or offended. You will patch together your house, and go back to being who you were last term: a mildly irritating but hardworking student devoted to her work and to the well-being of her associates. Do you understand?"

She nodded and suppressed a sob. It came out as a tiny whimper, and she clamped her hands over her mouth to keep anything else from escaping.

It didn't go unnoticed.

Severus knew he'd never been good with emotions, less still those of women. He had no patience for any of it; certainly he had no patience for the boy-troubles of a teenaged girl. He had thought, since she was so close to Potter, that growling at her until she relented would work for both of them: she would do as she was told, and he would ignore her until she aggravated him again. And yet he found himself consumed by guilt at the sound of her crying; guilt that he had no comforting words for her. Guilt that he knew exactly how she felt, and yet would strike at her when she was most vulnerable.

Guilt that he had been like her, once: shamed and regretful, lost to unfathomable emotion and desperately lonely.

She straightened up in her chair and pushed the hair back from her face. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy and her breath was shaky, but she had that determined air about her--a trace, if only a trace, of her normal self: the self he related to so well. She vanished her tea and made as if to stand up to leave; it would soon be time for her next class, and it was too late to consider heading to Transfiguration.

He knew he had to say something.

"You will hear from Viktor Krum," he said softly. "And when you do, I want you to come find me."

Their eyes met.

She stared at him, her eyes narrow with resentment, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Slowly she backed away from him, nudging into a few desks before turning and breaking into a run. The door unbolted and swung open, and she was gone.

His expression was frozen in place as he rose from the desk, drifting like a ghost toward the window that faced the Forbidden Forest. In the glass, he caught a glimpse of his reflection: No wonder she had run from him: that was the look of death, not sympathy. With a grunt of disgust he drew the curtains and whirled on the classroom. The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff fifth-years would be coming soon; there was no time for self-pity, and nothing he could do but teach as though nothing dreadful had happened.

Fine. He had mastered that art ages ago.


	2. II

**Monsters**

II.

Hermione was crying softly as she sat in the muggle airport, Viktor Krum at her side, staring into space and absentmindedly tossing a snitch charmed to look like a muggle ball. The plane was to leave in half an hour; Krum and his mates had insisted on coming early. They walked around, playing casual pranks on the muggles, while Hermione and Krum sat at a bench with a clear view of the runway.

It was hard, leaving. She wasn't sure when she'd see them again, and she'd gotten used to this wild life in Bulgaria. She sat there and babbled about coming back and what they'd do next visit--all the things they missed, and making up for all the time he'd spent in closed quidditch practice the final week. Krum didn't look at her, much--he watched the muggles, stroked her hand, and every so often took out his snitch, though it frustrated him in its altered state.

Krum's mates, laughing hard at their latest joke and stuffing themselves with muggle food, strolled up to them and chattered in Bulgarian. Krum reddened, and translated: "Boarding call. I suppose you are to leave, now."

Hermione tried not to sob in front of him, but the tears came anyway. One of Krum's mates hugged her ferociously. "Come back soon," he said in his thick accent.

A smaller man also hugged her. He didn't speak any English, so he just nodded his head.

She turned to Viktor. "I suppose this is goodbye," she said.

"I suppose so," he said.

She hugged him tightly.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you, too," he replied.

She picked up her suitcase and walked through the doors to the gate. As she turned around, she noticed that all three men were smiling. She did not notice that the smiles were forced. She waved goodbye a last time, and turned a corner. When she looked back again, they were gone.

* * *

Snape looked around at the fifth-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. They were supposedly making Strengthening Solution; no one seemed to have done a passable job. He recalled Potter's attempts at potion-making; by comparison, he wasn't so horrible. The thought of Potter set him scowling again. And that brought him to the thought of Granger, which was worse.

The students took note of his indifference to their work and seemed rather happy about it: Having Professor Snape lost in space was almost as good as if they had someone else for a teacher. Snape paced about the classroom, absently noting the student's mistakes and muttering corrections.

Luna Lovegood's potion was by far the most bizarre. Its vapor was black and its texture bubbly; its surface had a sheen like a mirror. The girl was staring at her own reflection. Snape recalled his own with a shudder; he walked briskly to the window and pulled back the curtain.

There he was again: Heartless _Snivellus_ with the great hooked nose. He looked out across the vast fields to the forest's edge--it was a clear day, and in the distance he could make out the shapes of birds, flying toward the castle.

* * *

Herbology was dragging on, and Sprout wasn't in a particularly good mood. In fact, he seemed so sour that the Gryffindors for all their feuding were cheerful by comparison. Hermione had set to work by herself in a separate area of the greenhouse; from where she sat, she could see that Ron and Harry were talking quietly, and Neville was cheering up somewhat as he dug in the dirt.

She sat quietly, thinking about what Snape had said. "Go back to being who you were last term"--how was that even possible?

* * *

Hermione stepped off the muggle plane, feeling very out of place. Worse, the flight had been delayed--she'd had no way of conveying the message to Krum, and no way of knowing if he'd bothered to wait up. The muggles around her seemed not even to notice her, and she wondered--not for the first time--if this had been a good idea after all.

And then, she saw him. He was standing at the front of a crowd of people, looking around anxiously. His eyebrows were thick as ever and he looked strikingly handsome--for the first time, Hermione saw exactly what every other girl at Hogwarts had seen in Viktor Krum.

When he saw her, the corners of his mouth twitched upward in a weak smile. He grabbed her in a gentle hug and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

"These are my friends," he said, and introduced them in turn. One, Maya, was undeniably pretty--she was a chaser for the team, and evidently one of his oldest friends. Hermione felt slightly jealous and annoyed, wondering why she hadn't been mentioned before--though it didn't take her long to realize why. Maya spoke no English at all, and the boys happily talked to her in their language, leaving Hermione completely in the dark as they led her out of the airport.

Ten minutes into the ride in the car--which had been enchanted, much like those belonging to the Weasleys--Hermione spoke up, tired of being ignored.

"Excuse me," she said to Viktor. "Where are we going?"

"A tavern in the city--it is like your Hog's Head," he replied. Maya said something, and he laughed loudly, beaming at her.

It wasn't, in fact, a bit like the Hog's Head. It was loud, yes, and crowded with wizards and witches--but it was not the same at all. The people were younger; the atmosphere more dangerous--the typical clothing far more risqué. Magic bolts were flying everywhere; some of the wizards were even riding their broomsticks indoors.

Krum led the group out onto the back patio. There, the view of the city was beautiful yet terrible; muggles, unable to see them, walked below laughing and fistfighting, enjoying their night out. Hermione had never been to such a place before; she sat down next to Krum at one of the tables, inching her chair closer to him and staring sullenly out at the cityscape when he failed to notice.

A tray of drinks floated in from the bar and landed in the middle of their table. Krum's friends laughed and took a frothing mug; Krum passed one over to Hermione and took one for himself.

"What is it?" she asked.

Krum laughed. "I don't know the word in English, so I can't help you. It's delicious," he said. "Just try it."

She did. At once it felt like a fireworks display had gone off in her mind; she blinked and nearly gagged at the strength of it. Whatever it was, it was a strong potion. And it seemed, as she drank more, to slow down the time: Maya's giggle lasted several seconds; Krum's words drawled out long and for a moment she imagined she could understand him. Her own movements were slow and graceful; her eyelids were heavy and her smile deep.

What a beautiful city. Everyone here was so different, so happy, so free--and all of this without breaking rules. There were no rules--just friends out on a weekend holiday. The muggle city lights sparkled in her drink and danced in Viktor's eyes.

"We're going to go on to a favorite place of mine," said Viktor, taking her hand in his. "Are you ready?"

She nodded and stood up, blushing.

"What is the matter?" he asked, leaning in close to her.

"I forgot something when I got off at the airport," she said softly.

"What?" he asked with a seductive smile.

"This." Blushing furiously, she kissed him on the cheek.

As she turned her head away, she felt his lips meet hers. He was kissing her, and she knew she would remember this moment forever.

* * *

A shadow passed overhead and she looked up. There was an owl sitting on the glass roof, directly above her. Her owl! She looked around; Sprout was busy with Parvati and Lavender, and no one else was looking her way. She snuck over to the wall and opened up a panel; in a soft flurry of feathers her owl landed, and she reached down for the scroll it carried.

She found several, addressed to Viktor Krum. The handwriting was hers and they were still sealed.

Biting her lip, she pulled the scrolls off and stuffed them into her pockets. Underneath the pile--all her notes that she had sent--was one addressed to her, in cramped and foreign handwriting. It was, unmistakeably, the letter she'd been waiting for. With shaking hands she broke the seal; she sat down at her desk to read it.

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_I am sorry to have to tell you this. Against all of the odds, against what I was sure was true, I do not think we were meant to be. I know what I told you but please understand, you aren't who I thought you were. I expected so much more, and my friends agree--I can't be with a muggleborn._

_I'm so sorry that it had to be this way, but I can't bring myself to face you again. I don't want to see you. I lied, Hermione._

_Goodbye._

_Viktor Krum_

* * *

There were no words for how she felt, reading that letter. All that mattered was that she read it, and when she was done--and had re-read it six times over, to make sure it was real--she got up quietly, gathered her things, and slunk out of the greenhouse to be alone.


	3. III

**Monsters**

III.

Few things thrilled Snape less than time with Potter. Yet, oddly, armed with the plan he had devised during the third-years' classes, he found himself eagerly anticipating this detention.

He hoped they wouldn't be late.

Surely enough, no sooner had he sat down behind the heavy old desk in his office than Potter and Weasley arrived at his door. His nostrils twitched as he picked up the scrolls and quills he'd prepared for the occasion.

"Enter," he said. "Mr. Potter; Mr. Weasley--I hope you are well this afternoon?"

Both Harry and Ron swallowed. There was something about him that was particularly unsettling, and coupled to his oft-expressed hatred for Harry, this something had them shaking in their robes. Worse, neither one of them had seen Hermione since Herbology, and she was not known to skive off any class, much less an entire afternoon.

"Please have a seat," Snape growled, letting his hair hang once again in greasy hanks in front of his face.

The boys did as they were told.

"I am giving you each a quill and a scroll. You will complete the assignment I give to you, and may only leave once it has been completed. The same assignment will be given to any other member of your house who treats my class as a battle arena for pathetic grudges, or is otherwise disrespectful. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," they said in unison, exchanging looks. Neither was particularly trusting of Snape.

"You are to write down in their entirety the events leading to and including this morning's dispute with Miss Hermione Granger. Include no extraneous details; I have no desire to read about your unrequited affections."

Ron turned deep red.

"When you are done, you will give a title to this assignment, and add the following: 'Written during detention with Professor Snape'."

Both boys raised their eyebrows, but Snape was no longer looking at either of them. Instead, he was watching out his window.

Feeling very awkward, Ron looked down at the quill in his hand. Snape hadn't given them any ink. What were they supposed to write it down with? He peeked over at Harry, who likewise was staring at the quill with a scowl on his face. This couldn't be another one of Umbridge's old quills, could it? Ron looked back at the scroll and sighed. There wasn't any choice but to do what he'd been told. He set the edge of the quill down on the paper and began to write.

"_It all started when Hermione..._"

Ron stopped and looked down at his writing. The ink that had appeared was a soft silver colour, like liquid metal. A fine mist rose from each letter. Ron screwed up his nose and squinted at it. What the devil was going on? When he looked up, Snape was tapping his wand against his arm and glowering at him--he decided to get back to work, and didn't stop again until he was finished.

* * *

_The Muddle with Hermione Granger_

_Written in detention with Professor Snape._

_It all started when Hermione got back from visiting that dodgy quidditch star Viktor Krum--the one she went to the Yule Ball with. She hadn't even told us she was going and the whole group of us were worried sick. She even went by muggle craft! Me mum had a fit when she heard, though Dad got excited--he's into those things, you know--and Ginny was upset, since they are supposed to be girlfriends. Anyway, when she got back we had it out. She told us that she had drank some frothy bilge and flown around with all sorts of bad eggs. I bet she did more than what she told us, too. She insisted she was in love with Viktor and didn't care for me--and she called me jealous! I wasn't really jealous, but she had been missing for three weeks, so I was quite angry. I called her a traitor to her friends and accused her of trying to be someone she's not. I called her some other names, too. Harry tried to break up the fight but instead wound up taking my side in it. She kept going on that Viktor was going to write to her and she was going back there as soon as term ended, and on all her vacations. Harry told her to stuff it, and I told her I didn't care what she did so long as she left me out of it. We ignored each other until we got back to school, but last night in the common room she showed up asking to borrow Hedwig or Pigwidgeon and that was the limit. I don't suppose she's heard back from him at all, but she keeps insisting that she's better than all of us, wanting to send off our owls to that wretched place, Durmstrang. Neville and some others overheard me when I called her a scrubber and a tart and got into it too--though I didn't really mean the names I called her, and I hope she didn't take them to heart. She put a hex on me that took all night to remove, so the next morning when we came to your class, Professor Snape, sir, I was in no mood for another quarrel, and I felt rather knackered, to tell the truth. I fought with her in front of you because I'd stopped thinking, you chased us out, took twenty points from Gryffindor, and gave us detention. I suppose you spoke with her during all of Transfiguration since she came to Herbology, but I haven't seen her since then. That's the full story._

_Signed, Ron Weasley_

* * *

Ron looked over at Harry, who was finishing his own account of the incident. Snape had stopped peering out the window and was now standing over them, looking impatient. The boys rolled up their scrolls and handed them to their professor, who tucked them away quickly.

Then they blinked.

"Well?" demanded Snape.

"Erm, I'm not sure exactly," began Harry, his hand instinctively moving to scratch his head. "Why are we here?"

"You tell me," Snape hissed.

"Guess we'll be going then," said Ron, who was inching toward the door.

"Very well. Don't forget your assignment."

"What assignment?" asked Harry, looking perplexed.

"An essay on the proper composition and uses of the Memory potion," Snape growled. "Due next class."

Both Harry and Ron blanched as they stumbled out the door. It slammed shut behind them.

"What was that about?" asked Harry.

"Beats me," replied Ron. "Say, Harry, what were we in Snape's office for, anyway?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't remember," he replied.

"Weird," said Ron. The pair walked off together to the Great Hall, feeling suddenly hungry for supper.


	4. IV

**Monsters**

IV.

Hours later, the sky was darkening rapidly as gray mile-thick stormclouds rolled in from the east. In the west, the sunset was thin and yellowed, deepening to orange at the horizon. Hermione walked back across the lawn to Hogwarts Castle, completely spent from an afternoon's despair.

No one had come to look for her, and she supposed she had Hagrid to thank for that. He had notified the other teachers that he needed her after class (never mind that she had skived it off) to help him deal with Grawp--after all, the giant rather likes her--and best of all, he hadn't asked why she needed time alone. She spent the day by the lake, watching the cloud shadows creep across and dull its surface, tearing up her letters and scattering them in the wind.

Now she took no notice of anything, ignoring the gargoyles and portraits and ghosts as she entered the castle, wandering through the halls without even thinking where she intended to go. Back to the dormitories? She didn't really feel up to talking with anyone, least of all Ron, Harry, or Ginny. To see her professors about homework? She didn't feel up to that, either.

She came to the Great Hall; it was empty. It seemed everyone had finished eating and had gone back to their rooms for the night. She walked slowly toward the Gryffindor table, listening to her footsteps echo. The last rays of the sun filtered in through the windows and reflected off the newly-repaired chandelier. She pulled out a chair (which scraped against the floor loudly) and sank into it, slumped over the table, and put her head down, tucked into her elbow.

This was the worst feeling. She thought vainly of the time-turner she used to have--whatever trouble it may cause, it would be worth it if she could just...do something. But as she finished the thought, she realised she had no idea what that something might be. It was hopeless.

"I thought I might find you here."

Hermione didn't bother looking up. She'd been wrong--_this_ was the worst feeling. From the sound of the footsteps, he was coming over to her. It seemed he wanted to talk again, she guessed.

"Why's that?" she replied sourly.

"Why's that, _sir_," he corrected. She heard the scrape of a chair across from her, and she sat up. "If you'll notice," he said, sitting down and gesturing toward the entrance where Peeves was making faces at them, "I had a few clues." Peeves blew a raspberry at him, but vanished when he saw the wand drawn.

She harrumphed.

"I must say, you're rather bold for someone reportedly so miserable," he said.

That comment stung.

"I'm sorry, Professor," she said. "It was not my intention to be...bold."

He nodded.

Neither one spoke for a few minutes. He looked around: up at the ceiling, down at the floor, over at the Slytherin table. She stared at her hands, picking at a cuticle.

"I've never sat at the Gryffindor table," he said at last. "Never wanted to, either."

'Bully for you, then,' she thought, but said nothing.

"You may have been wondering why I told you to come see me," he continued, changing the subject. She hadn't, but had the sense not to correct him--now that he mentioned it, it was rather strange. "As you know, I'm not in the habit of...socializing with the students, or meddling in their personal affairs."

She nodded, wondering where he was going with this.

"Did you not find it the slightest bit odd that I would show any interest in your conflicts with Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter?" he asked.

"I did," she said. "But I wasn't about to question--"

"Of course not." He lowered his voice to a barely-audible whisper. "Personally, I have no interest in what goes on between you and your friends. Nevertheless, as a member of the Order. . ."

She frowned, feeling tears welling up in her eyes. He was a cold, unfeeling man--that much, she was sure. What did the Order have to do with anything?

"It is in the best interests of all involved that you, Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Potter remain in a strong bond of friendship. I have assessed the situation, and will be taking all measures necessary to correct it."

Her expression was completely blank. Snape sighed inwardly, frustrated with it all.

"So," he said, as gently as he could manage.

"So..." she echoed.

"So, let me help you."

Her head was spinning. She rubbed at the sore red corners of her eyes. "Help me how?"

"It was bad news, was it not?" he asked, his voice hesitant. He got no reply. "The owl. . ." he clarified.

She bit her tongue and looked away.

"Some wounds never heal. . ." he whispered.

If she hadn't been on the verge of tears, she might have noticed that he spoke from experience. She tugged at the sleeves of her robes and straightened up in a show of maintaining her dignity.

"I will be fine," she said flatly.

"But not soon enough," he added. "Should. . .a situation arise, you would not be in any condition to. . ."

It was becoming far too difficult to choose the right words.

"Are you saying," she sighed, shaking her head, "that you want to make all of this go away?"

"I am. Though I am afraid that revenge on Mr. Krum is not an option, enjoyable as it may be."

She laughed a cruel, bitter little laugh. "What to do, then?"

He didn't respond right away, so she made a display of considering her options.

"Well, so long as I remember what he did, I'll be hurt and angry, so I suppose we could just take all of my memories of Viktor and put them in a pensieve. . .They could rot in a dusty corner for all eternity, for all I'd want them back."

Snape shook his head. "I considered it, but it would not work."

"Really? And why not?"

"One remains aware of memories placed in a pensieve, Miss Granger. You would know what they were, even though you would not have them. . .and your anger would remain."

She nodded, fumbling around in her pocket for her handkerchief. She blew her nose, then frowned. "I suppose getting rid of the memories is out, then," she grumbled.

"Not exactly," he replied. "There are other ways."

She perked up, looking for the first time quite interested.

"You may recall that last term I had the misfortune of giving Potter occlumency lessons."

"But occlumency only teaches one to guard against external attacks on the mind."

"And if one had no knowledge of the art?"

Sudden comprehension spread over her face.

"I would have to see your memories in order to--" he paused to consider his wording "--properly seal them." He waited for her reaction.

"Sealing memories. . .that's a brainwashing technique."

"It is extremely difficult to reverse, as well. Of course, if you do not wish to be 'brainwashed' by me, you could choose to write down every detail on a memory scroll. . ."

"I trust you," she said, steeling herself. She got up from the table and walked around it to stand in front of her professor. "Shall we?"

He looked around; seeing no one, only flickering candles, he smiled slightly and rose from his seat. "Now is as good a time as any," he said, readying his wand.

She closed her eyes.

"_Legilimens_!"


	5. V

**Monsters**

V.

Hermione felt a strange rush as the memories flooded her.

She was dizzy from the firewhiskey. Krum's mates from Durmstrang--his other mates, not from quidditch--were having a party and she'd gone along. They'd built an enormous bonfire and were singing songs around it, drinking and laughing, but she lacked the strength to join in--the alcohol was particularly strong, and she wanted to lie down and have a nap.

The whole thing felt like an uncomfortable mistake. She leaned her head on Viktor's shoulder, watching the bonfire burn. His hand was cold in hers. "Viktor. . ." she sighed, letting her eyes close.

His arm coiled around her. Sure, he hadn't kissed her since that first night at the tavern, but he was still here with her, wasn't he? The fire's heat warmed her face and she cuddled up to him, watching a patch of embers drift up into the air.

In the distance some bushes rustled. Viktor reached up and stroked her cheek, turning toward her. She wiggled a bit, trying to see where the rustles came from.

"Don't," he said quietly. "Just keep your head down."

Three Durmstrang boys, black hoods covering their heads, were dragging a smaller boy along behind them. The boy was kicking and screaming curses, but the largest of the three was laughing and holding his wand well out of his reach.

Hermione felt Viktor's body tense. "What are they doing?" she gasped, fumbling for her wand.

It was missing.

The boy let out a scream and Viktor squeezed her hard. "Just stay quiet," he whispered ferociously.

"But they're torturing him," Hermione protested. Her body was burning up with rage and firewhisky. "We have to help!"

"_You_ can't," said Viktor. He gave her a protective kiss on the forehead. "Stay here."

He stood up, leaving her on the bench, and walked over to the group of boys. They argued; Viktor took their bottle of firewhisky and tossed it into the bonfire, where it exploded. The boy took advantage of the distraction and ran away; the second-largest of his tormentors threw his wand after him. The smallest tormentor gave Viktor a shove and Viktor responded by shoving him back hard. The boy drew his wand and Viktor was temporarily caught off-guard. Hermione tried to stand up to defend him, but was too dizzy. She collapsed back onto the bench, vaguely aware of footsteps approaching.

Someone else was running up behind her, shouting.

"_Expelliarmus!_"

It was Maya. She jumped over Hermione's bench and ran up to the group. Viktor grabbed her in a hug and the two larger bullies took off their hoods and laughed at their friend, who was looking for the wand that had flown twenty-odd metres away. Maya kissed Viktor playfully on the cheek and the group sat down on some log benches, laughing at what Hermione sensed were jokes aimed her way.

Viktor's wand was in his hand, but from where she sat, there seemed to be one tucked into his belt.

She raised herself to her feet, still a little wobbly, and staggered off toward the street to get away.

"Hermy-o-ninny," Viktor said, aimlessly picking at the end of his sleeve. The two of them sat in his room, Viktor sitting the wrong way in a chair, leaning over the back of it; Hermione on the bed facing him, her knees tucked up to her chin.

"If you love Maya, why did you ask me to come here?" she said softly, a lump forming in her throat.

"I don't know," he moaned, shaking his head. "I thought if I saw you again, I would remember how I felt before; that it would be all right. I thought I would feel something. . ."

"But you don't."

"No, that's not true," he said, his tone pleading. "I _did_, I mean I _do_. I think that I do--I want to." He groaned and ran his hands through his hair.

She shook her head. "This isn't fair."

He got up from the chair and paced agitatedly along the length of the room. He stopped at the edge to pour himself a drink which he downed in a gulp, then refilled the glass and handed it to her.

"Here," he said.

"No, thank you," she said, and set the glass aside. She shook her head and sighed as the tears escaped. "Oh, Viktor. . ."

He looked like he was about to be ill, and watched her cry without saying a word or making a move. One of his friends peeked in the door and mumbled something unintelligible; Viktor waved him off with a casual smile.

"Does this mean," said Hermione, "that I. . .and you don't. . ."

Viktor sat down next to her and sighed deeply. "Yes."

"You don't," she repeated.

"I'm sorry," he said. If he was sincere it was impossible to tell.

"No," she moaned. "This can't be happening. . ."

'But it happened already,' said a voice in her mind. Viktor had taken her into his arms and was kissing her lightly, mumbling promises to make things better.

"No! I won't let it!" she screamed. "NO!"

"_NO!_" her own voice screamed back at her, and everything went black. There was a roar and a wind like a close passing train, and when she regained her senses, she was in a castle so dark she couldn't see her own hands in front of her face.

"Help me. . ." someone whimpered.

She looked around but couldn't see anyone.

"Please. . .help me. . ."

"Where are you?" she called, stumbling over invisible obstacles.

"Help. . .!" The voice grew into a piercing scream.

"We're coming!" someone else cried out.

Hermione could see two figures running in the distance. As she watched they became more clear: a red-haired woman and a dark-haired man who looked exactly like--

"Harry?"

She gasped. The air had that distinct clammy feeling of nearby evil.

"No," moaned the mystery voice. "No, don't--"

There was a brilliant flash of light. Wild cackles and shrieks filled the air and Harry and the woman fell to their knees. Hermione rushed for them.

_"Crucio!"_

"James!" cried the woman.

'James?' Hermione stopped short. 'This isn't real. . .that's Harry's father. . .and his mother!'

"Lily, get out of here," moaned the voice.

"Not on your life," Lily replied, grabbing her husband in her arms. He was still trembling from the effects of the Cruciatus curse.

"An interesting proposition," said another voice--one that was all-too-familiar.

"V-vol--" Hermione whispered. He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named was standing right in front of her. His eyes burned right through her as he snatched away Lily's wand. Behind him, crumpled on the ground, was Severus Snape.

"No. . ." Snape whimpered, and Hermione realized what had happened.

Harry's parents had come to rescue him.

"Nooo!" laughed a sinister-sounding woman in mockery. Hermione recognized her: Bellatrix Lestrange, standing beside her husband Rodolphus. Death Eaters, both.

"You dare defy me?" growled Voldemort. "_Crucio!_"

Snape's body thrashed in pain; Hermione shook. "Please no. . ." she whimpered, as Snape himself mouthed the same words.

Dementors materialized along the walls; she could see dozens of Death Eaters lining the corridor, their dark robes and hoods so much like those of the boys of Durmstrang. Bellatrix Lestrange was howling with mad laughter.

"Oh, darling boy," she said, her voice wild with glee, "did you honestly believe I cared for you?"

Hermione felt her heart wrench; Snape's fingers clawed into cold stone.

"Did you honestly believe you were ever one of us--you weak, pathetic little child?"

"Bella," laughed Voldemort.

"My lord," said Bellatrix, dropping to one knee and bowing her head.

"We have the Potters. Dispose of this one at will."

"Gladly, my lord."

"NO!" roared James. Hermione couldn't see what happened; she was cowering on the ground--dementors whirling around her, terror filling her heart and mind. There were screams and loud crashes; a crowd of good wizards and witches had smashed their way through the windows.

"Come on!" someone yelled, grabbing hold of her arm. It was Lily. Shaking with fear she struggled to her feet and ran out alongside Harry's mother--only now realizing that Lily was clearly pregnant.

"They went this way! Get them!"

"They're after us!" she found herself yelling as they fled into the woods.

"Save your breath!" Lily hissed back, pushing the thickening brush out of her way.

"_Confundus!_"

Hermione whirled around, tripping over her own feet. James was behind them, blasting away with his wand. Most of the Death Eaters following them had dropped back, fallen to fighting with the forces of good, or fallen from the fighting. Bellatrix was holding her head, reeling; Rodolphus was nowhere to be seen.

"Oh, come on!" urged James, grabbing her hand and pulling her up. Her sleeve slipped up her arm. . .

Lily went pale with horror. "James!" she gasped, pointing at the Dark Mark.

"My God," James breathed, shoving Hermione down on the ground. "Snivellus, you bastard! You would lure us to our deaths!"

"No! No, never!" she choked, feeling her arm burn. A bolt of purple energy struck a tree above them.

"Rot in hell," spat Lily. "James, leave him and let's get out of here!"

"If anything happens to my wife or our child. . ." James hissed through clenched teeth, ". . .may it be forever on your head, Severus Snape." He threw her on the ground and the pair vanished into the trees.

The agony in her forearm was unbearable. The tears in her eyes stung and she could barely see. Robed men--shapeless figures in the darkness--Durmstrang boys or Death Eaters--were closing in around her and she scrambled through the dirt--

Only to emerge on a street. Wobbly orange halos surrounded dim streetlights in the rain that was now pouring down. Her hair clung to her face and her arm smouldered.

_"Viktor!"_

That was her own voice calling out. She circled slowly, looking for herself and catching sight of Krum himself.

_"How can I trust you, Viktor?"_

"Hermy-o-ninny, _please!_"

_"I don't care if they do come after me, Viktor!"_

"Don't do this," he begged. "I swear to you I don't care that you're a muggle-born witch. Let me prove myself to you."

The Dementors were closing in. Viktor ran and embraced her, kissing her forcefully on the lips.

She broke away, protesting--"They're after me!"

"Who is?" asked Viktor, his thick eyebrows furrowing.

"Death Eaters!" she blurted, frantic, eyes darting everywhere. "Don't you see them?"

"I don't understand," said Viktor, holding up her arm. "Aren't you one of them?"

The Dark Mark seemed to grin up at her as she stared at it, mortified.

"NOO!!" she wailed. "No, no, NO!"

"That's too bad."

Her neck cracked as she looked up at Viktor, his eyes glowing red, his voice replaced by--

"Lord Voldemort!"

The Dark Lord hissed at the mention of his name; the sky split with a massive fork of lightning.

"Help us!" cried Viktor from behind her.

"Please!" wailed Maya.

"Let me go!" Hermione howled, turning to face the embracing couple, her arm held fast by the possessed Viktor.

"Help!" screamed James.

"You can't do this!" Lily raged. She held a baby in her arms.

"_Avada ke--_"

Hermione let out the loudest scream of her life as with a fierce gold explosion the memories came to an end.


	6. VI

**Monsters**

VI.

The spell was broken, the nightmare replaced by the Great Hall.

The two of them stood there staring at the floor, Snape rubbing his arm where it bore the Dark Mark, Hermione biting her lip hard.

He didn't want to look at her. He'd just seen her darkest memory, and if he wasn't mistaken, she'd seen his--and the two had been hopelessly intertwined. There was no way in seven hells he could face her now.

"Huh..."

Hermione shivered. Her breath was shaky; she couldn't control it well enough to speak. So that was what it was like to live in darkness.

"Huh," she choked again. It was hard, but she managed to look at him: hair a frightful mess, arms and neck drooping, wand hanging at his side. And in spite of all her pain, and the terror of their combined memories, she felt for him.

He could feel her eyes burning into him but he didn't dare look up. He heard her footsteps, with their echo in the cavernous hall resounding so loudly it was painful. He could see the hem of her robes, inches from his own feet. This was more than he could stand, but he couldn't bring himself to chase her away.

And then he realized it: she knew. For the first time in his life, someone else knew what it had been like for him--and she understood. He turned to her.

Their eyes met.

He knew his lips were quivering--his body had gone numb and icy. Her hand had taken hold of his and she raised them up, closing the distance between them, not breaking eye contact.

"How did you. . ." he mouthed, but no sound came out.

She wondered if he was afraid of her. It was a strange feeling, this sudden power over him. With a look she could make his blood drain away. With a touch she could make his heart pound and his breath ragged and weak. They were dangerously close. And what would happen if--

He loosed himself from her grip and pushed his hair back behind his ear. Though he was scowling, the pain in his eyes was evident. Hermione felt a crushing weight on her chest as she realized what he was thinking.

"The spell didn't work," she whispered.

He shook his head no.

She looked down at the wand in her hand. "I'm sorry."

He still said nothing, instead setting his jaw and looking away. Flickers of candles reflected in his eyes and reminded her of Viktor--of how she felt for Viktor. She held out her wand.

"Disarm me."

His head snapped around and he was glaring at her. She gasped in fright as he snatched the wand away, setting it on the Gryffindor table.

This was not fair--what had she done to make him angry? She showed him understanding, affection; felt his pain. She hadn't meant to turn the spell around, if that's what she'd done. And she wanted him to know that. She backpedaled a few steps, almost falling over a chair behind her.

He opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again. His wand raised, he prepared for the incantation.

"Professor Snape, I. . ." she began. "I know what you went through and _please_ just let me help you. . ."

"Some things are better forgotten," he muttered. "_Legilimens_!"

* * *

"Viktor. . ."

Visions of a dark-haired young man spun through her mind: traces of kisses, a dampness lingering from moments where skin touched skin, warmth from the memory of exchanged smiles. Two shy students sat in the library; one read her book and the other watched through the shelves. Everyone stared at the beautiful girl accompanying the famous quidditch star to the Yule Ball. A crowd gaped as it was revealed that the champions in the Triwizard tournament must rescue those they cared for most. There were quiet goodbyes and promises; Owls brought letters from far away.

A bushy-haired girl boarded a muggle plane while her parents waved an encouraging goodbye. She stepped off in Bulgaria; she met a man whose face was blurred and distant. They. . .kissed, and he had a friend who made her jealous. . .at a bonfire held after--was it three days? They held each other in a small room in an old house and he said something, and they drank firewhiskey. . .and the next day they went to a school, D-something--Durmstrang--where there was an end-of-summer feast; something happened there. They were kissing again and he had his hand on her back, and she whispered something in his ear like a promise. He said he loved her, after all; maybe at one time that was important but she had forgotten why. Some girl was talking to her, barely able to speak English. She said, "Viktor loves _you_ now"--she must have meant the dark-haired boy.

Everything was so foggy. People were talking, but their faces were missing. Words faded out into oblivion. A boy and a girl were on a dark street and the girl was screaming. The boy ran to her and kissed her hard and then he was gone. A hand was tossing a ball. Someone was waving. "I'll see you again, won't I?" "Of course you will." A letter. . .the Dark Lord. He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named had eyes that glowed and he was there, somehow. . .The dark-haired man (was he the same one?) and the red-haired woman--Lily?--were standing defiant and another person (who?) was there. The dark-haired boy called out to her and she wanted to run to him. But the Dark Lord. . .

Something was wrong. She was losing her mind--her memories were snuffed out like candles, and she was powerless to stop it--and she couldn't even remember why this was happening--

She screamed and fell to her knees. Harry was yelling at her and Ron was screaming curses. They were in Potions and she was gloating--they were running away; Snape was talking to her. There was tea. She looked out across the lake and saw a face in the distance: a face and a bonfire and hands and lips and a girl and a boy and a large nose and a mark and a letter--

"Help me!" she cried.

She felt cold, and a faint longing for something that she couldn't remember. With a final tremor she collapsed onto the floor. It was over.


	7. Epilogue

**Monsters**

Epilogue

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione's eyes fluttered open. Her mind was cloudy, as though she had been in a deep sleep; for a minute, she was sure she was dreaming.

"Professor Snape?" she said slowly, trying to imagine _why_ she would be in the Great Hall, lying on a table, with her least-favorite teacher _holding her hand_.

He let go and sprang back. Was that embarassment on his face?

"There are better places to take a nap," he said softly. "Don't you think?"

She sat up and shuddered, rubbing her eyes. He watched her, not daring to say anything.

"I feel like I just had a bad dream," she said. "But I don't know why I was sleeping _here_. . ."

Well, the seal worked, he supposed. "Perhaps you should return to your room," he said.

Odd--there wasn't even a trace of malice in his voice.

"Right," she replied, eying him with suspicion.

"Well? Are you waiting for me to take points from Gryffindor, or are you going to be on your way?"

She turned beet red. "I'm so sorry, sir," she said, jumping down from the table and scurrying off--but just as she reached the exit, she turned back and called out to him.

"Goodnight, Professor Snape!"

She had a smile on her face, small and hopeful.

He waved. "Goodnight, Miss Granger."

She grinned, and ran away.

He watched her go.

He listened to her footsteps grow fainter with distance. . .

Suddenly he felt very heavy, and he needed to sit down.

* * *


End file.
